We Are the Future
by Alanna n' Jon 4ever
Summary: They were the future... but of what? A Pansy/Draco fic, a bit dark . Rated T for dark themes, maybe some violence/words, etc.
1. From Whence We Came

_**We Are the Future**_

Summary: They were the future… but of what? A PansyDraco fic, a bit dark, not a oneshot.

HAS BEEN EDITED and re-posted!! My wonderful editor, charmedlily, has edited this, so I've posted the corrected version.

Bear with me here, this is my first PansyDraco fic (so far I've mainly stuck to the comfortable atmosphere surrounding LilyJames), this is a bit out of my comfort zone. But I'm really excited about it, so I hope you are too. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it (although admittedly it's a bit dark, there's not a lot of humor… we'll get to that later).

I'm still working on updating Chances Are You'll Be Fine, sorry but I got swept away with the urge to jump outside the realm of what I normally work with (namely L/J) and transfer to the "dark side". So here goes nothing!

**Disclaimer**: I literally own nothing. Except a computer.

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Chapter 1: From Whence We Came

"Dear Ms. Parkinson," the letter read, "we are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to Hogwarts School of…" Here, Pansy halted. She sprinted out the door and down the hall, stopping at a large wooden door with a brass knocker.

"Mother!" she cried. "Mother! Come quickly!"

The doors opened slowly, revealing two doormen standing at attention beside the doors and a lovely woman striding toward the doorway. She had glistening dark hair, and large black eyes.

"Pansy?" Her expression was stern. "You interrupted me." She swept her eyes up and down her daughter's body. "You are not injured; I presume it is not an emergency and there was no reason to have disturbed me." Her eyes hardened. "Do not do so again."

And as her mother turned back into the large room, Pansy ran forward and pulled her back. Her mother glanced, with wide eyes, at the small hand grasping her wrist and snarled. "What are you doing?"

"Mother," Pansy whispered, "I wanted to show you this." She handed her mother the Hogwarts letter.

Mrs. Parkinson took the letter forcefully, glaring at her daughter in the process, and yanked the letter from its envelope. She read it quickly, her expression stony. When she had finished, she threw the envelope back at Pansy, who stared back at her, tears threatening to glisten in her eyes. But she would not cry. She never cried.

Mrs. Parkinson sneered. "It's not as though we thought you wouldn't be going. If you hadn't been accepted, your father was going to send you to boarding school. So be thankful you got in. Slytherin House is very important to your father, so make sure you are well-liked amongst your classmates. Don't make any enemies, or you will not be receiving an invitation to come home for the holidays. Understand?"

Pansy nodded tersely and turned, walking slowly out the door.

* * *

Draco looked up at his parents from across the breakfast table. Neither responded to his glance, and neither acknowledged him.

The twelve-year-old cleared his throat, hoping for a response. His mother looked up sharply, but when she realized it was only her son, returned her gaze to her stationary. Mr. Malfoy's expression didn't change.

"Mother, Father," Draco stood and cleared his throat one more. "I've made a decision. One that I've waited a long time to make, and one that I've pondered for quite some time now. I know you will both be proud when you hear it."

Narcissa Malfoy looked up, sighed, and looked down. "Draco, darling, are you certain this is important?"

Draco frowned. "Of course, Mother."

Narcissa's gaze traveled to his face. "Very well, then. Continue."

"I have decided to join the Dark Lord in his quest to cleanse the wizarding world."

Lucius Malfoy, who had been engaged in his newspaper up until that point, banged his snake-headed staff forcefully against the hard marble floor and snarled, "You will do no such thing. You have yet to regain my trust, and hence are loath to gain his."

"Plus, Draco, dear," Narcissa added quietly, "you must think of your studies. The Dark Lord, I am sure, will be willing to hear you out after your graduation. After all, what use are you to him before them? You barely know how to perform a simple disarming spell."

Draco sneered. "I have been practicing, and I have improved. I am ready to join now."

Lucius stood abruptly; Narcissa winced. "Expelliarmus!" He cried so forcefully that Draco was propelled into the far wall.

"Draco!" Narcissa cried, rushing to her only son and bending to examine him. "Are you hurt?"

"Leave him, Narcissa," Lucius commanded.

Narcissa sent one last concerned look towards her son, and returned to her place at her husband's side.

"You, boy," Lucius snarled. "You are unworthy of the Dark Lord's attention. You will never be good enough for him. To join the Dark Lord, you must be a wizard of the highest caliber; and I would say from our little episode here that you are yet to deserve the title 'wizard' at all."

Draco stood slowly, doubling over from the pain in his abdomen and rubbing his aching head absently with his left hand. Slowly, without drawing attention to it, he drew his wand out of his back pocket with his right hand. And with a sudden cry of "Stupefy!", a flash, and a crash as Lucius hit the opposite wall, Draco proved his worth. The spell itself was worthless, merely a tool for his promotion; it was the recipient who mattered. He, Draco Malfoy, had conjured a spell stealthily enough and powerfully enough to knock Lucius Malfoy, the Dark Lord's most treasured wingman, unconscious.

Narcissa looked flushed. Looking anxiously from her husband to her son, she approached the former and bent next to him. "Please, Lucius, do not ask him to prove himself again. He is just a boy; he does not know his own limitations. He could get hurt!"

Lucius snarled and pushed her away. "Get off me, woman! That little wretch knew perfectly well what he was doing, he was merely goading me. You!" He pointed, glaring furiously, at his son. "You have betrayed me!" And with a wave of his hand, Lucius dismissed his son.

The twelve-year-old hissed and left the room, scaling the stairs three at a time heading for his room at the end of the hall. Draco kicked the door open, and slammed it furiously behind him. He pulled a suitcase from beneath his bed, tossed in some clothes and necessities without worrying about using magic, and slammed it shut. Draco dragged the suitcase down the stairs, drawing the attention of his mother.

"Draco, darling, where are you going?" Narcissa's eyes were filled with worry, but she stiffened as she felt her husband come up behind her.

"Let him leave, Narcissa," Lucius sneered, "we'll see how he fares in the real world. Don't expect us to come and rescue you, boy."

"Don't worry, Father," Draco whispered. "I never have." And with that, the door shot open of its own accord, making way for Draco to enter the world beyond.

* * *

**A/N**: It's a bit short, but I'm done with the next chapter, so I'll be putting that up very soon! Aka now!

P.s. Getting reviews is a hobby of mine. So save me from intense boredom (I don't write well when I'm bored) and write a review! :)


	2. We Stand Alone

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pansy… but although I don't really "own" Annie, I created her. She is mine! You shall have me to answer to if you steal her!! Mwahahahahahahaha… I'm just kidding.

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Chapter 2: We Stand Alone

Pansy stared around her at the hustle and bustle of platform 9 ¾, the likes of which she had never seen. Children her own age, walking with their parents and hugging siblings goodbye. They did not look up at Pansy; whether out of fear or disinterest, she did not know.

Her parents had not accompanied her, but had bade her brothers Tallow and Duvall escort her to the train. This was not for Pansy's protection, but her family's, lest she be taken alive and reveal their doings to her captor. And it was thus, with these pleasant explanations for her brothers' attendance bouncing through her thoughts, that Pansy Parkinson came to stand in front of the Hogwarts Express.

Pansy was attired in a navy blue robe and navy blue dress, with her long, straight black hair down. Her brothers, each at least a head taller than her and standing on either side of their sister, were adorned in matching black cloaks with black suits underneath. Tallow, being the eldest, fastened his cloak with a golden broach; Duvall with one of silver; Pansy with one of deepest blue.

Looking around at the children in jeans, plain shirts and everyday cloaks, Pansy realized she and her brothers stood out from the crowd. To be quite frank, she had rarely been away from Parkinson Manor, and even then only to attend the parties of other families who had gained the favor of the Dark Lord. She stood, gaping at the nerve of these children, to laugh and shout, hug one another and kiss their parents goodbye, and dash toward the train. But mostly, she was unnerved by their carelessness, to walk around with their arms bare, clearly showing the lack of a Dark Mark.

Pansy did not have her Dark Mark yet, but her parents had put her through rigorous training sessions to prepare her for the day when she would receive it. Not to mention they planned on her marrying a pureblood who bore the Dark Mark as well.

Since she was considered unworthy until she bore the Mark, Pansy was required to always cover her arms to prevent the shame from being noticed. She was shocked to see so many people not caring who witnessed their shame. Perhaps out here, in this world of strangely happy people… perhaps here it did not matter so much.

Duvall shoved her forward. "Do you not hear the whistle? Get on the train or you'll miss it! Father will be furious to find you back at home!"

Pansy started, and shuddered as the whistle sounded for a second time. She quickly headed for the door, and lightly stepped onto the train. Tallow, with a lazy flick of his wand, levitated her luggage onto the train after her.

Tallow walked away with a nonchalant wave of his hand in the general direction of his little sister. Duvall leaned forward as the train's whistle sounded for the third and final time.

"Hey! Write and tell me how ol' Baron's doing, yeah?" Then he, too, was gone.

The Bloody Baron was Pansy's father's uncle. After his death and his decision to remain at Hogwarts as a ghost, he had become a sort of mentor to Duvall during his school days. Baron, as they called him, had taught Duvall all manner of dark spells and curses. In short, Baron had made sure that Duvall, despite his laziness and bitter dislike for learning, had gotten his Dark Mark on time, sparing the family the embarrassment and hasty excuses they would need to make on Duvall's behalf if he had failed.

Pansy walked down the corridor, peering into each one as she passed. Here a smiling face, there an anxious one, and over there yet another tearful goodbye.

_Tears are pointless_, Pansy's mother had always pointed out. _The only things worth crying for are the vile mudbloods and traitors who will never know the favor and glory the Dark Lord bestows upon his loyal subjects._

That's what muggle-borns had always been to Pansy: vile traitors. She had been taught from an early age that muggle-borns were inferior, worthless, insipid creatures who only sought to pollute the pure blood of the wizarding families. And such were her thoughts when she stumbled upon Annie's carriage.

"Oh, hello!" said the girl occupying the carriage Pansy had stumbled into. "Is this your first year as well?"

Pansy looked the girl up and down, taking note of the ragged clothes and rumpled hair. She nodded brusquely, situating herself as far from the girl as possible.

"I'm Annie," the girl persisted. She held out her hand amicably.

Pansy shrugged away from her.

"What's your name?" My, that girl was insufferable. Couldn't she tell Pansy didn't want to speak to her?

The girl's face took on a hurt expression. "Do you not like me? I was afraid nobody would like me. My mother said I'd make friends, but nobody's talked to me yet and I got excited when you came in. I thought we could be friends." The petite girl broke down into tears. "But-but-but you're just like everybody else, you hate me. Don't you? You do! You hate me!"

The girl's voice was accusing now, and Pansy took great offense. And yet, noticing the large, sloppy tears now sprinkling the seat, Pansy held out her hand slowly.

"Pansy." She didn't even bother saying more than that. It was just her name, after all. Her name didn't define who she was… did it?

Annie's face brightened considerably. "Hi, Pansy!" She giggled, then laughed uncontrollably until Pansy turned bright red and demanded to know why she was laughing. Annie's breathing slowed until she had calmed down, at which point, she said, "That's not really your name, though, is it?" Annie wiped a tear away from her eye.

Pansy gaped at her. "Of course it is. Why would I lie about my name?"

Annie stopped laughing, looking straight at Pansy. "Oh. You weren't lying, then. Sorry. Didn't mean to- didn't mean to insult you. It's a very pretty name, I've just never heard it before, and it's so unusual…" Annie turned pale and looked nervously at Pansy.

"Don't explain yourself." Pansy haughtily turned away. "Besides, I don't bother much with mudbloods such as yourself."

Annie gasped. "That was a horrible thing to say!"

Pansy inwardly felt the guilt chewing away at her, but she knew her mother would be proud. "Well, it's the truth. You're a dirty mudblood, that's what you are, and I shan't speak to you anymore." She turned toward the window and crossed her arms defiantly.

"You… you… you're awfully mean!" Annie sobbed, and ran out of the compartment.

Once Pansy was alone, she settled in to enjoy the view. She knew she should feel sorry, but she couldn't seem to muster the emotion. She could practically feel the Dark Mark worming its way onto her arm, the ink fusing with her skin, travelling through her blood, into her steadily beating, bleeding heart. It would devour her.

* * *

Draco trudged down the street, his suitcase jostling against the ruts and tiny stones on the pavement. His legs were lead, his head stone, but he would not stop here.

It must have been the first time that he, Draco Malfoy, did not have a plan. Or honchos. And so he had set out into the darkness, fully unprepared for the loneliness and trials ahead, foolishly thinking he would magically (excuse the pun) know where he would go and what he would do. He certainly couldn't make the trip to Snape's house, and even if he could he wouldn't know where to begin explaining. And so he decided on the one place he knew a prospective Death Eater would always be welcome: his aunt and uncle's.

Bellatrix Lestrange had been a Death Eater since Draco was born, and she and Draco's father were the Dark Lord's two most prized servants. Draco knew his aunt could get him a meeting with the Dark Lord, and if not, he naïvely thought she might put in a good word for him. She had the power to get him what he wanted, and he wanted to join them.

His father's words echoed in his head.

_You've yet to regain my trust…_

Draco hadn't done anything wrong. So maybe he'd "forgotten" to mention a few excursions when speaking to his father. The two times he'd disappeared without his father's knowledge were both to visit his other aunt, Andromeda. He'd not lost contact with her, and he found her daughter somewhat funny, if not altogether too supportive of the effort against the Dark Lord to be his friend.

… _and hence are loath to gain his._

Perhaps Lucius was right here: the Dark Lord would not appreciate learning about Draco's visits to Andromeda and Ted.

Draco could not walk to Bellatrix's house; it was over 40 miles away. And so he did the unthinkable, the thing no self-respecting dark wizard would ever do. He stuck out his wand arm.

And the Knight Bus came.

That insufferable kid, Stewart Sunpie or whatever his name was, was standing on the platform.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your driver for this evenin'. Whereabouts are you headin'?"

Draco, disgusted, mumbled his aunt's address.

"Ah, that's a dodgy section, mate. Lots of dark witches and wizards live there. Look after yourself, eh?"

Draco sneered. "Do you know who I am?"

Stan frowned. "No, I reckon I don't. What's your name?"

"Suffice it to say I'm the only son of Lucius Malfoy." Draco hissed. Stan blanched.

"Oh…oh…oh…oh my. What're you doin' on the Knight Bus, eh? Your kind… your family don't normally come here. They don't never do nuffink that could get 'em in trouble wif… You Know Who."

Draco rolled his eyes, seriously considering hexing the boy right here, despite the fact that Stan was about seven years older than him.

"Just drive, yeah? I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Of course, little Malfoy… Malfoy Jr… Mal… sir." Stan stumbled over the words, swallowing them forcibly. "Take 'er away, Ern!" He called as he rapped on the driver's window.

The bus emitted a loud 'POP'. Darkness folded around Draco, comforting him in a way it could comfort few others. Darkness was not to be feared, he had always been taught, but respected. _Darkness is power. Darkness is power. Darkness is power._

After a while, with that mantra slithering through his mind, he saw the turrets and towers of the Lestrange Manor folding into view. He had arrived.

Stan practically threw his baggage off the train, and Draco swore to exact revenge on this boy… later. He was tired now, and needed his strength for this encounter.

Draco walked up the endless driveway, and stood before the large oak doors with snakes for door knockers. He picked up one snake, and banged it against the doors.

Slowly, almost painstakingly so, the doors opened. A tiny house elf stood there, looking up at him.

"Master Malfoy." The elf squeaked as it bowed, its nose nearly touching the floor. It sounded surprised. "What can I do for you?"

"I want an audience with my aunt. Immediately." Draco stepped inside without being asked, and surveyed the foyer he had been so familiar with in his childhood. After his father began falling out of favor with the Dark Lord, Draco had seen less and less of his aunt, who measured everyone's worth by their commitment to the Dark Lord.

The house elf squeaked nervously, then ran into the darkness. Draco waited. Finally, the elf returned, and bowed him towards the drawing room. The house elf opened the double doors and bowed him through.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood there, clad in black and a deep, blood-red bodice. Her hair was set atop her head, and her eyes pierced through him.

"Draco, Draco," Bellatrix purred slowly. "It has been too long."

Draco bowed his head. "Yes, Aunt, it has." He would need to explain quickly, before she took her anger towards his father out on him.

"Tell me, nephew, why have you come?" Her voice was hardening now. Draco could feel the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

"I wish to join the Dark Lord." There, that was blunt.

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows. "Do you? And what makes you think he wants you to join?"

Draco swallowed. "Well, my family has shown him the greatest devotion, and the Dark Lord cannot possibly turn away good, pure-blooded wizards who wholly support his cause."

Bellatrix sneered. "Oh, now you believe you know what goes on in the Dark Lord's mind? The Dark Lord does not abide by your little rules, Draco. You must impress him. You must show him you are worthy, and you will remain faithful. You will no doubt have trouble convincing him of your loyalty, after your father's disgraceful display."

"I understand. But I'd like to prove myself, show my superior loyalty… if I could." Draco was almost pleading now, and he hated how young he sounded.

"Very well," Bellatrix's mouth spread into a slow, sinister grin. "Then we should arrange a meeting, should we not?"

She began laughing, hysterically, maniacally, devilishly. Soon another laugh joined her, more cold, more high-pitched, more evil. But Draco was not laughing.

That's when Draco felt all the color drain from his face, and the air in the Lestrange Manor turned icy.

* * *

**A/N**: There you go! Hope you enjoyed it.

Just to clarify, this all takes place during (and before) the first year of Hogwarts. So bear in mind that Draco and Pansy are only eleven. Draco may sometimes sound as though he is much older, but his age becomes a rather important factor in the course his life takes throughout this story, so keep that in mind!! With Pansy it's much easier to glean her age from the way she speaks, plus she is at Hogwarts (where term has started – another thing to remember when reading Draco's side), so the fact that she is a first year is mentioned several times.

A side note: I did not come up with the names "Tallow" and "Duvall". Those I credit to Jonathan Stroud, the brilliant author of The Bartimaeus Trilogy (the characters "Tallow" and "Duvall" are mentioned often in book 2, The Golem's Eye). If you've read the books, you'll know that both "Tallow" and "Duvall" are last names in the books. Here, though, I've used them as Pansy's brother's names. They seemed appropriate enough, and I was having trouble coming up with names like "Lucius", "Draco", and "Scorpius"… those are weird names to match!

Please review!! Much appreciated!


	3. In Which Turning Around Is Not an Option

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters.

**A/N**: **CHAPTER IS COMPLETELY REDONE**. Has been edited and re-submitted, and now includes an entire section on Pansy. So, basically, EVEN IF YOU'VE READ CHAPTER 3, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE READ THIS CHAPTER AGAIN, BECAUSE IT IS QUITE DIFFERENT THAN IT WAS BEFORE. You will have a hard time understanding the next chapters if you don't read this.

Thanks!! :)

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Chapter 3: In Which Turning Around Is Not An Option

Draco felt the air leave his lungs as the room became ice cold.

Bellatrix was laughing, her head back and her pointed teeth exposed.

"Draco," the voice hissed. The sound was a slow, steady stream of blood-curdling laughter. "So, you wish to serve me?"

"More than anything, my Lord." Draco was on his knees, head bowed out of respect and fear, hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Liar." Draco couldn't force his eyes to meet the face etched into the back of Professor Quirrell's head. He was too cowardly even to do that.

"You cannot even look at me." The voice was taunting now. "Look at me, boy, and perhaps I may let you prove your loyalty."

Prove his loyalty? Was that a test? Draco's heart was beating so loudly that he swore the Dark Lord could hear it. And yet, not wanting the Dark Lord to think him unfaithful, he lifted his gaze.

The first thing he noticed were Quirrell's hands, which were clutching a wand that looked eerily like a bone. That wand had killed so many. So, so many for the crime of being a mudblood. The wand that had killed that Potter's parents, but was unable to kill Potter directly. How he, Draco, longed for the chance to kill Potter himself. Joining the one man eager, even ecstatic, to kill Potter was the surest way to getting his wish fulfilled. So Draco forgot the murdered, and stared the murderer straight in the eye.

The Dark Lord's eyes were sunken in and unnaturally bloodshot. His lips were thin and slightly blue, and his mouth curved up slightly in a permanent malicious grin.

When Draco looked up at him, the Dark Lord's eyes flashed. "Now, Draco," the Dark Lord said, breaking the palpable silence. "Now you can prove yourself. I have a task for you. You are to enter the office of Albus Dumbledore and procure the sword of Godric Gryffindor by any means necessary. I expect a full report in two days." The bloodshot eyes searched Draco's own, and sparkled mercilessly at what they found. "Do you still wish to join me?"

"Y-yes, my Lord," Draco stammered.

The Dark Lord's smile grew more pronounced. He gave Bellatrix a meaningful look, she inclined her head slightly with a malicious grin, and then Quirrell was gone, and the haunting face along with him.

A gush of wind blew through the room, despite the fact that Bellatrix never opened the windows.

The cold, slithering voice whispered through the air near Draco's ear.

"Two days."

* * *

Before the great double doors opened, she knew.  
Before McGonagall called her name, she knew.  
Before the Hat even touched her head, she knew.

So did the Hat.

"SLYTHERIN!"

As she walked slowly toward the long table of green and silver, she noted Annie in the group of first-years. The girl was standing slightly to the side of the rest of the crowd, eyes trained on the marble floors, hands clenched tightly in front of her. Pansy noted with a tight-lipped grin that the suffocating energy Annie had displayed on the train seemed altogether extinguished by the forces of the new surroundings. That suited Pansy. She didn't like overly enthusiastic people.

The Slytherin table had clapped when she was sorted, and as she approached they did so again, for one "Quentin, Mortimer!" as he too was placed in the house. Shyly she sat at the end of the table, and was greeted instantly with three grins and one emotionless stare.

"Hey," said the boy directly across from her as he stretched his hand out toward her. "I'm Blaise Zabini."

Pansy shook his hand coolly. "Pansy Parkinson."

"Oh, you're the Parkinson girl? I've heard about you. Didn't your brother used to go here?" There was something playing just beneath the surface of Blaise's eyes that Pansy couldn't quite identify.

"Yes," Pansy admitted. "Both of them, actually. Do you know them?"

Blaise only smiled. "Not directly."

A span of silence followed, during which time Pansy sat awkwardly as she tried to think of something to say. Words failed her, so she contented herself with the silence and looked instead toward the stage, where Ranson, Charlie, was being sorted.

"Hufflepuff!" shouted the Hat.

The girl sitting next to Blaise snorted. "Lovely." She had a rather masculine look to her, and would have nearly doubled Pansy's height if they stood next to each other.

Pansy stared her down. "And you are?"

"Millicent. Bulstrode."

Offering her a cold smile, Pansy continued in a sarcastic tone, "Pleasure."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." And Millicent turned her head to the side, effectively ending the conversation.

Pansy's eyes sparkled. _I think we could be friends._

McGonagall's voice rang out clearly. "Sampson, Anne."

Pansy's head shot up at the name, and she glanced, interested, toward the platform that Annie was ascending. _This should be interesting_, Pansy thought dully.

McGonagall placed the hat on Annie's head, and silence filled the hall as the students waited for the Hat's announcement. It didn't come. For almost two full minutes, the silence stretched on.

When the Hat finally made the announcement, it did not shout. It spoke as though it had suddenly aged twenty years. As though the word that flowed from the cracked, tanned lips broke the leather heart within.

The voice rang out with cold finality.

"Slytherin."

* * *

**A/N: **Keep checking back for updates; I will put them up as quickly as I can. College applications abound, but I do my best to make time for this. It's been a while (sorry!), but with Early Decision and Action applications done, I've got bits of time here and there to update.

Review, review, review!! :)


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